


you spent the first five years trying to get with the plan

by anniebrackett



Series: five years [1]
Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Boss/Assistant Relationship, F/F, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, claire dearing is a bottom don't @ me, socially awkward claire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebrackett/pseuds/anniebrackett
Summary: “In moments like this, Claire swears she can feel the weight of what they’re doing about to crush them both.”Snapshots of the relationship between Jurassic World’s Operations Manager and her assistant, spanning over five years.
Relationships: Claire Dearing/Zara Young
Series: five years [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644793
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	you spent the first five years trying to get with the plan

**YEAR ONE**

Initially, Zara isn’t Claire’s first choice for the position. 

Twenty pre-approved resumes cross Claire’s desk during the hiring process for her assistant. Interviewing and selecting one is her first official duty as Senior Assets Manager. Bright-eyed and eager to make a good impression in her new role, Claire stays late to sift through and select which candidates to bring in. 

Zara’s is the first to land firmly in the “no” pile. She’s young. She doesn’t seem to have experience anywhere other than her English hometown and surrounding area, and Claire doubts she’s ever travelled outside of it. Her educational background, while impressive, just doesn’t stand up next to the other resumes in the pile. 

As the night comes to the close, four resumes tucked aside for interviews in the coming weeks, Claire stands to throw the rest in the shredding bin. Her back cracks, and she realizes she hasn’t stood up from her desk since the sun set. She adds this to her mental list of reasons why hiring an assistant is a good idea – she needs somebody to look after her when she forgets to. 

One by one, Claire slides the reject resumes through the slot. But when she reaches Zara’s, the first to land in the pile and the last to go, she hesitates; and, after a moment, she steps away from the bin and places the resume on top of the interview pile. She grabs her bag, and the stack, and tells herself it’s a failsafe, a “just in case” for if the other options don’t pan out. 

\------------------------------- 

Zara’s interview further cements Claire’s belief that there are better suited candidates for the position. She has a firm handshake and she intelligently answers all of the questions asked of her, yes, but her inexperience still shines through amongst the interviewees who are coming from backgrounds within various sectors of Masrani Global. 

(If her smile makes Claire’s heart skip a beat, that’s neither here nor there). 

Claire has always used her head to make decisions; she looks at numbers, not feelings. This is no different. The other candidates may not be as charming or as enjoyable to talk to as Zara, but on paper, it would make sense to hire any one of them over her. 

She goes into the final stage of interviews with Zara still on the list regardless. 

\------------------------------- 

“Ms. Young, what would you say is the biggest responsibility of the personal assistant role?” Claire twists the cap off her pen to give herself something to do with her hands. 

“To make your life easier,” Zara answers bluntly. She catches Claire’s eye before continuing, “I know I’m not at the experience level required for the job, and you probably have concerns about that. If I were in your position, I know I would. But experienced or not, I also know that I am fully capable of fulfilling every duty expected of the role, and then some.” 

And with that, Claire makes the one-time decision to go with her gut over her head. She sends out an e-mail to Human Resources with the girl still sitting in front of her: _I want Zara Young for the personal assistant position_. 

\------------------------------- 

Claire has always worked best quietly and alone. In elementary, the other kids would play tag or hide and seek, while she would find a space away from the noise to read. In high school, Karen would yearn for group projects with her friends, while Claire was grateful when she could start and finish an assignment without other hands interfering. 

So, when she realizes that the Senior Assets Manager position means not only having an assistant, but one with a desk in her office, Claire asks if the newly-hired Zara Young can be moved elsewhere. The response she gets – “Where would you like her to go? The roof?” – has her fighting to stay in control and not show her embarrassment. 

Thankfully, Zara, as it turns out, is a fantastic assistant not only in her ability to complete her work, but also in her ability to read and understand Claire. She doesn’t waste her time with small talk about the weather or her weekend plans, nor does she chat about nothing to fill up the quiet space of their office. Rather, she works silently alongside Claire, only speaking to answer the phone or ask for clarification. 

With time, she moves into making the occasional blunt, smart comment, and Claire bites the inside of her cheek and tries to pretend she doesn’t find it amusing. 

Eventually, in the mornings, they start the routine of standing in front of the large window in their office overlooking the park as they sip on their drinks – a latte for Claire and tea for Zara – with Zara prompting her boss to lay out the game plan for the day. This ritual serves to sync them so that they’re on the same page, and they walk away from it every morning feeling more focused and like a cohesive unit. 

One morning during this routine, two months after Zara’s start date, she asks Claire to lunch. 

Claire hesitates when she realizes that she doesn’t want to come up with an excuse not to go, like she would with anybody else. She wants to take a break from the increasing pile of work on her desk, and she wants to take it with Zara. 

(She ends up spending it belly-laughing in the café closest to their office, and Zara tries not to look obnoxiously pleased with herself). 

\------------------------------- 

“When is your flight home for the holidays?” Claire asks one morning as Zara is handing over her second latte of the day. They’ve reached a point where Claire doesn’t even need to look up from the document she’s reviewing to grab the drink when Zara enters their shared space. 

“I don’t have one.” 

That catches Claire’s attention. 

“What? Why not?” 

“The weather here is much more preferable to the wet slush in England this time of year,” Zara answers dismissively, going for the excuse with less feeling behind it and hoping Claire doesn’t see through her, or at the very least doesn’t care enough to call her on it. 

“Don’t you have family to see?” Claire breaks eye contact, turning her head to glance out at the enclosures visible in the distance. “Or a significant other?” 

“I’m not close with my family. And Alec’s family is uncomfortably large; the whole holiday season is spent going house to house. I’d prefer to avoid it.” 

“I see,” Claire pauses. She doesn’t want to pry, but she also doesn’t want to seem cold and uncaring. God, why has she never been any good at this? 

After a beat, she finally adds, “I was going to go home, but my promotion is still fairly new, so I’ll be around here for the holidays.” 

“I know, Ms. Dearing. I’m the one who cancelled the flights,” Zara replies, her tone gentle and teasing. 

Claire flushes. 

“What I’m trying to say is – I’ll be here, if you wouldn’t mind some company.” 

For a moment, Zara looks genuinely taken aback, something Claire isn’t sure she’s ever seen. But she wipes the shock off of her face quickly enough, replacing it with a soft smile as she uncharacteristically stumbles through her words. “I’d like that. I was going to ask, but I thought – yeah, no, I’d like that a lot.” 

Claire is too focused on not letting her own nerves show to notice Zara’s, and they relax into a comfortable silence, both flushed and pretending there’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

\------------------------------- 

“I’ve been meaning to mention,” Claire cuts through the quiet of their office, trying to sound casual and refusing to glance up from the spreadsheet on the screen in front of her. “You don’t have to call me ‘Ms. Dearing’ when it’s just us.” 

Zara takes it in stride. If she notices Claire’s trepidation, she doesn’t mention it. 

“Of course, Claire.” 

\------------------------------- 

Sometimes Claire catches herself just looking at Zara. Not admiring, that has too many connotations she’d rather not deal with, and not staring, that’s too off-putting, but just looking. 

When the stress of the day gets to her, she knows she can glance to her right and, for a brief moment, just take in the other girl, her eyes tracing over dark waves and pale skin, before turning back to the workload in front of her with a renewed focus. 

Sometimes she likes to think she sees Zara looking at her, too. 

\------------------------------- 

“Zara, I know it’s late, but I’m practicing my presentation for the management meeting in the morning and nothing sounds right. Would you be able to come over and give me feedback?” 

“As outside of my job description as that is, I suppose I could stop by, just this once.” Zara is smirking and Claire knows it. On the other end of the line, she bites her lip. 

“Thank you. Room –” 

“Six-twelve, I know,” Zara cuts in, already sliding into her shoes and scanning the room for her keys. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Rehearsing the speech ends with Zara asleep on the sofa in Claire’s suite. In the morning, Claire wakes up to an outfit laid out for the meeting and a latte on her nightstand, but no assistant in sight. 

\------------------------------- 

Zara takes a week off for her birthday and turns twenty-six in England. Claire buys a bouquet from the only floral shop on the island for Zara’s desk for her to come back to, and spends far too long in front of a mirror rehearsing what she wants to say. 

_“I know you’re my assistant, but –”_

_“There’s an opening in marketing, and I was thinking if you switched departments, maybe we could –”_

_“I think I might be falling in love with you, do you –”_

None of her lead-ins fit, so she decides to let her typically-bold assistant take the lead when she sees the flowers. 

\------------------------------- 

Zara arrives back at the office with a ring on her finger and says nothing about the bouquet. 

Claire presses her fists to her eyes in the bathroom in an attempt not to cry, and doesn’t say a word for the rest of the day. 

\------------------------------- 

**YEAR TWO**

Claire drowns herself in her work because it’s easier than drowning in the ache between them. 

She can’t think about the way Zara’s eyes crinkle when she smiles at her, or how her breath catches in her chest when Zara’s dress clings to her frame just so. She can, however, think about deadlines, and meetings, and stacks of paperwork, instead. 

She tells herself that, at least this way, she gets something productive out of her exhaustion, as opposed to anxiety she can’t resolve and emotions she doesn’t know what to do with. 

\------------------------------- 

“Mr. Grady, it’s a pleasure.” Claire stands to greet the man standing in front of her desk, extending her hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” Owen nods sharply. He can manage basic pleasantries, at least, but his grip is too warm. Claire has to hold back a wince. 

His smile is bordering on overly friendly, and Claire can feel the smart quip on its way, so she cuts to the chase. “How are the assets?” 

His smile freezes. “I’m sorry, the assets?” 

“The dinosaurs,” she raises her eyebrows. “The raptors.” 

“The raptors are –” Owen starts, but the sound of a quick knock followed by the office door opening cuts him short. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Zara announces as she enters the room. “Claire –” 

Zara’s step falters at the same time that Claire’s head snaps up. Owen suddenly feels like he’s the one intruding. 

The silence stretches on for a short moment longer before Zara continues, “Ms. Dearing. Mr. Masrani just arrived ahead of schedule. I thought you’d want to know.” 

The expression on Claire’s face is unreadable. Even to Zara, whose job revolves around her ability to know exactly what Claire is thinking. 

“Thank you. Mr. Grady, I’m afraid we will have to continue this another day,” Claire steps away from the desk, dismissing them both. “Ms. Young can give you some upcoming times that will work.” 

\------------------------------- 

Zara is already standing when Claire walks back into the office. She looks hesitant, since when has Zara ever looked hesitant? 

“How was the tour with Mr. Masrani?” 

“It was fine.” Claire cringes internally at her clipped tone. 

Zara steps closer, moving from the space between their desks to the spot directly in front of Claire. “I wanted to apologize for earlier,” she starts. “I got too comfortable with using your name in here. I wasn’t thinking.” 

Claire wants to be professional and firm, wants to accept the apology while reminding the girl in front of her that it can’t happen again. 

Instead she blurts out, “I like how you say my name.” 

Claire knows she’s blushing. She also knows that the air in the room, typically sticky and humid due to the climate they live in, feels like it’s dried up and gone. 

She’s grateful that, at the very least, she’s gained control back over her voice before all of her feelings on the subject had time to come to light. Zara can’t know, especially not here, of all places, just how often Claire has thought about the way her assistant’s mouth twists over her name, accent and all. How she wonders what it would sound like gasped in her ear, or muffled between her legs. 

(She wants and wants and _wants_ ). 

Claire had backed up at some point during the conversation, with Zara following, whether subconsciously or not. The edge of her desk is driving into the small of her back; it would make sense to move closer to Zara. 

God, it would be as easy as breathing. 

But then Zara grabs her arm to steady herself, and the metal band of her engagement ring pressing into Claire’s arm _burns_. It jolts Claire into awareness, and she’s behind her desk before she even realizes it, picking up a stack of papers that mean nothing and shuffling them to keep her hands from grabbing the front of Zara’s blazer and pulling her forward. 

“Take the rest of the day, Ms. Young.” Claire manages through the tightness in her throat. She doesn’t know if Zara says anything in response; she doesn’t look up from her shaking hands until she hears the door click. 

\------------------------------- 

“Mr. Grady,” Claire plasters on a smile that he can’t see through the phone and tries to sound casual. “I know my assistant scheduled you in for next Tuesday, but –” 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re calling to move it ahead again.” 

“I’m not,” Claire can already feel her patience waning. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to discuss things over dinner, instead. Would this Friday night work?” 

She really hopes he isn’t so dim that he misses what she’s asking. 

“Friday sounds good.” Owen clears his throat on the other end of the line, sounding flustered. 

“Great, I’ll meet you on Main Street for nine.” If Claire’s tone and grin are bordering on maniacal, she tells herself that it’s just the excitement she’s supposed to be feeling right now. 

\------------------------------- 

During the first morning at work following Claire’s awkward misstep, they trudge on through their routine of syncing schedules by the window. The difference between this and any other morning, however, is the uncomfortable silence blanketing their office. 

“The first thing I want to get done today, save for any emergencies, is the scheduling,” Zara speaks when it becomes clear that Claire isn’t going to. “Are you planning on coming into the office over the weekend to work on that report?” 

“Probably at some point. I won’t be working late Friday, though,” Claire answers. She hesitates before continuing, “I have a date.” 

Zara’s hand pauses in the middle of lifting her cup to her mouth, but her expression stays neutral. “A date?” 

“Yes. With Owen Grady.” 

There’s another beat of silence, and Claire suddenly wishes she’d never said anything in the first place. 

More than anything, though, she wishes Zara would ask her not to go. 

She wishes Zara would turn away from the window and pin Claire against the glass. She wishes Zara would make the move Claire so desperately wants to make, but can’t, because she’s the one in charge, and Zara’s the one engaged to somebody else. 

“The raptor guy from yesterday? Really, Claire?” Zara scoffs, wrapping her free arm around herself. She stares through the window, looking in the distance without really seeing anything. 

“Why not?” Claire’s temper spikes, and she lashes out before she can stop herself. “Because of what happened yesterday?” 

“ _Nothing_ happened yesterday,” Zara laughs, sharp and void of any humor. “I just know you deserve better.” 

They’re facing each other now, both using anger as a defence, forcing any other emotions back under the surface. 

“You’re right. I do deserve better,” Claire starts, and Zara tenses at the even tone her voice has taken on. “But did it ever occur to you that maybe I can’t have better? That I’m not _allowed_ to have better?” 

She waits for Zara to flinch, the realization setting in, before she turns on her heel, finally moving away from the window. 

“Claire –” 

“Just get to work, Zara.” 

\------------------------------- 

Claire storms away from the restaurant. This is ridiculous. He’s ridiculous, with his tequila shots and his board shorts. She’s ridiculous, for thinking dinner with him would distract her from anything. 

She fully intends to carry on with her storming all the way back to her suite. 

Instead, she finds herself in Zara’s building, banging on her assistant’s door. 

“Claire?” She opens the door looking sleep-rumpled, her dark hair sticking up on one side. 

Claire doesn’t say anything for a long moment, her eyes tracing over the extra-large Jurassic World t-shirt hanging off the other girl’s frame (the Apatosaurus stares back up at her and she suddenly remembers Zara identifying it as her favorite dinosaur on the personal assistant application – was that really over a year ago?) She tries not to linger on where the shirt cuts off mid-thigh, leaving nothing but exposed legs. 

“Can I come in?” 

Zara steps out of the entrance and opens the door further, gesturing her inside. 

Standing in the hallway makes Claire painfully aware of how overdressed she is. The heels she chose for the night are significantly taller than any of her everyday pairs, putting her high above her barefoot assistant. 

(The neckline of her black cocktail dress is _plunging_ , and Zara’s breath catches sharply in her chest, green eyes flitting over every bit of exposed, pale skin). 

Claire squeezes her hands together uncomfortably, drawing in a slow, even breath. She has had a lot of awkward moments in her life, many moments where she’s realized she overstepped or said the wrong thing. It comes with the personality. But she doesn’t think she’s ever been as uncomfortable as she is right now, dressed to the nines, standing in her half-dressed assistant’s entryway, clearly imposing on her sleep. 

Her mouth parts as she prepares to apologize and leave – what is she _doing_? – when she feels Zara’s hands on the back of her neck, pulling her forward. 

“Is this alright?” Zara whispers, so close that Claire aches. Zara is staring at her mouth, and Claire swears she can feel the air between them crackling. 

She nods. Zara closes the gap, leaning up on the tips of her toes to press her mouth to Claire’s. She tastes like cucumber and mint, and kissing her feels like drowning in the best way. 

Claire doesn’t want to ever come back up for air. 

\------------------------------- 

Claire’s phone buzzes on the end table and she scrambles to open the message. 

_“I can’t stop thinking about you.”_

She flushes, thankful that Zara isn’t here to see it. 

“ _Zara_.” 

“ _Claire_.” 

She wants to take the time to sit down and think this through, to do anything other than what every part of her is screaming to do in this moment. She wants to be calm, collected, and rational. 

Instead, she types out _come over_ , and flips her phone over before she can change her mind. 

\------------------------------- 

Their first time isn’t soft and slow and somewhere off the island like Claire has daydreamed about once or twice (or more). It isn’t even after-hours, with Zara sprawled across the sofa in the corner of their office and Claire on her knees, like in the dreams that have Zara waking with a start and rushing into a cold shower. 

Rather, it’s frantic, and messy, and starts pressed up against the door of Claire’s suite as soon as she opens it to let Zara in. 

They’ve waited too long to take their time with this. 

Claire’s off-white blouse, freshly pressed this morning – Zara knows, she’s the one who picked it up at the dry cleaners – is unbuttoned and hanging loosely. Zara’s hand slides up her bare stomach, shaking ever-so-slightly from nerves, and pushes past lace, grasping onto newly-exposed skin. The matching skirt is in a heap on the floor, and the painfully plain underwear Claire regrets choosing this morning are hooked over her ankle. 

Her heels stay on, at least. 

Zara’s unoccupied hand pulls Claire’s leg over the shorter girl’s hip. Half a breath later, she steps closer, her stomach pressing firmly between Claire’s thighs. Claire sucks in a breath, her hand smacking painfully against the door. 

Things progress rapidly from there, and if Zara wasn’t in a similarly desperate state, Claire would be embarrassed at how much she clearly wants this. At how wet she is, at how loud she’s being – keening her assistant’s name in the living quarters provided by their employer is not the most discreet she’s ever been – and at how quickly she falls apart. 

(It’s more than worth the wait; it’s better than either of them could have ever dreamt). 

\------------------------------- 

Claire, who is normally all sharp lines and rigid attitude and dressed to the nines, has never looked softer. Her perfectly straightened bob is in red waves across the pillow, her expensive clothes are still spread across various corners of the entryway, and there’s a look on her face that is both stunned and half in love. 

Zara doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful. 

It's in this moment that she realizes she’s completely done for. She knows full well that this is something that should terrify her, but instead she finds herself leaning into it, pulling back the covers to press a kiss to Claire's bare stomach, welcoming her fate with open arms. 

\------------------------------- 

**YEAR THREE**

Claire is horribly, ridiculously, overwhelmingly stressed. 

The park’s numbers are down. The rest of corporate is asking her to help them pull an entirely new _dinosaur_ out of a hat – something that, as it turns out, requires a ridiculous amount of research, board meetings, and paperwork. And to top it all off, her sister won’t stop nagging her. 

Her phone rings for the third time in an hour, and that’s the final straw. She sets it to silent and finally stands up at her desk, catching Zara’s attention in the process. 

“Claire?” 

She doesn’t respond, electing instead to walk across the room and lock the door, kicking her heels off as she crosses the threshold to Zara’s desk. 

“Zara,” she starts as she reaches the front of her assistant’s chair, their knees bumping together. She’s so glad they both chose to wear dresses today. “I really, _really_ need a break right now.” With each ‘really’, Claire drops a leg over Zara’s lap. 

Zara bites hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound, her hands automatically reaching out to grab onto Claire’s hips. 

Their faces are barely an inch apart, and Zara can see how blown Claire’s pupils already are. She’s positive hers aren’t much better. 

“Yes ma’am,” Zara slips easily into a smirk, grasping onto the upper hand and pulling Claire down closer by the back of her neck. She’s happy to act as a distraction. After all, it’s her job to keep Claire focused and stress-free, although she’s positive Human Resources would object to her methods. 

\------------------------------- 

“You don’t always need to be in control, you know.” 

“Like, sexually?” Claire scrunches up her face. “Zara, this isn’t really the place for that conversation.” 

Zara bites her lip and squeezes her hands together under the table. She tries to be conscious of the fact that Claire isn’t always able to grasp the point, and laughing when she slips up will only embarrass her, but sometimes it’s a struggle. 

“No, not like that. You’re a bottom, anyways,” Zara teases gently, lowering her voice because Claire is right, the only Starbucks on the island is decidedly _not_ the place. 

“What?” Claire’s frown only deepens. 

“Nothing,” Zara clears her throat sharply. “I just mean, generally. You don’t always need to be the boss.” 

“I _like_ being the boss,” Claire explains. “Is that a problem? Am I too controlling?” 

“No, no, no,” Zara reaches across the table to touch Claire’s wrist. “It was just a suggestion. For stress management purposes.” 

Claire realizes suddenly that a bright red blush is crawling up Zara’s neck. The corner of her mouth quirks as her assistant continues to search for words. 

“I’m so sorry, this entire conversation isn’t going the way I planned it.” 

“It’s okay,” Claire reassures her, flipping her hand over to interlace their fingers. “You’d tell me if it was a problem, though, right? Or if there were any other problems? I’ve never really done this sort of thing before,” she gestures subtly between them. “I’m not even sure if we are doing anything here, actually.” 

“We are,” Zara answers immediately. “And I would tell you.” 

“Good,” Claire squeezes Zara’s hand firmly. “Thank you for keeping an eye out for me, then.” 

“It’s my job,” Zara waves it off, taking a sip from her drink as she tries to hide the blush that’s continued to steadily grow. Claire smiles wider. 

\------------------------------- 

For somebody who has unlimited access to one of the best theme parks in the world, Claire doesn’t take advantage of it very often. Her days consist of work and her evenings are spent at home, or, on occasion, at Zara’s apartment. She dedicates her weekends to doing more work, running errands, and catching up on sleep. 

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” Claire sets her purse down on the kitchen island and finally steps out of her heels. 

Zara lifts herself up to sit on the counter, softly nudging Claire’s hip with her foot. “Why do you insist on pretending you cook? I know you get takeaway when I’m not here.” 

Claire rolls her eyes, as close to a response as Zara is going to get. 

“I’m in the mood for...” Zara makes an exaggerated show of thinking of options. “Sushi. From Nobu. I’m _positive_ my favorite Senior Assets Manager can get reservations on a whim.” 

Claire moves to stand directly in front of Zara, resting her hands on denim-clad knees. Although she doesn’t participate in casual Fridays, Claire can appreciate the sight of Zara in skinny jeans one day a week. 

“We just spent twelve hours in the office and you want to get dressed up and go out?” 

Zara stretches her legs out to wrap them around Claire’s waist. 

“Yes. Unless you’re too ashamed to be seen out with me, and want to keep me locked up in your suite all weekend, instead?” Zara is smiling, her tone flirty and teasing, but there’s a hint of a serious undertone there, too. 

Claire slides her hands up firm thighs, pulling Zara closer as she responds. “Alright. But you better not get used to me pulling strings around the park.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Ms. Dearing.” 

\------------------------------- 

Claire wears the dress she last wore on her failed date with Owen Grady, the last date she was on before falling into _this_ , and holds Zara’s hand under the dark lighting of the restaurant booth. Zara notices the extra effort and shows her later, after sushi and drinks and a long walk through the closed park grounds, just how much she appreciates it. 

\------------------------------- 

The next morning, Zara wakes Claire up by covering the other girl’s body with her own, pressing a messy kiss to the side of her face. 

“Wake up. I’ve been struck with a sudden bout of genius and I need you to get out of bed.” 

Claire opens her eyes only to slam them back shut, groaning at the overhead light being flicked on by an overeager brunette. “What time is it?” 

“Just early enough that we can get where we’re going by sunrise,” Zara explains, pulling Claire’s shirt - one of the more casual ones that she keeps in a drawer in Zara’s suite - over her head and laying another on the bed for her boss. There’s a possessive feeling in Claire’s chest that keeps her from asking why Zara is wearing her clothes when she has an entire wardrobe full of her own. 

Claire sits up at that. “Sunrise? Zara, it’s _Saturday_.” 

Now in the middle of pulling shorts on, Zara pauses to look at the woman still surrounded by covers, her red hair sticking up in all directions while her sleepy gaze focuses on Zara. “Please, Claire? I’ve already messaged my park contact to have everything set up.” 

Pulling back the blankets and swinging her legs over the edge of bed, but still not quite standing up, Claire is awake enough to raise an eyebrow. “You have a ‘park contact’? You have the Senior Assets Manager in your bed.” 

“You pulled strings around the park yesterday, now it’s my turn,” Zara answers vaguely, bumping Claire’s knees with her own. “Now get dressed and let’s go.” 

\------------------------------- 

Zara holds Claire’s hand as she leads the way down the path, the early hour allowing them a rare moment of privacy. 

As their destination comes into view, Claire stops abruptly, pulling Zara back a step. “This was your big plan? The glorified hamster ball?” The look on her face is bordering dangerously close to displeased. 

Zara doesn’t answer, choosing instead to move ahead and greet the ride attendant with a smile and a thank you, heading towards the gyrosphere. 

Claire stays rooted firmly in her spot. “And how are you friendly with almost everybody on this island?” 

“I’ve been told I can be very charming,” Zara winks, climbing inside the plastic bubble and reaching a hand out. “Get in here, Claire.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Claire takes her assistant’s hand and eases herself into the ride, snapping her seatbelt firmly in place. 

With that, Zara takes the controls and leads the gyrosphere through the deserted field. The ride is quiet, with Zara focused on driving, and Claire, for all her complaining, focused on the sights outside of the pod. 

At the edge of a field overlooking the rest of the park, Zara stops the sphere, and Claire turns to look at her. The sunrise bathes over them both from this angle, and Claire feels her breath catch in her chest. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Zara looks down suddenly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She’s smiling shyly, her eyes crinkling at the corners, all traces of her usual brand of smugness erased. 

A triceratops bumbles past them, and at the bottom of the hill, lights around the park are starting to turn on. Zara is still smiling. Claire is taking it all in, the feeling in her chest only increasing. 

“Maybe this isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Claire concedes. 

Instead of responding, Zara undoes her own seatbelt and leans across the console, kissing Claire softly. They separate only long enough for Zara’s eyes to trace over Claire’s face before she leans back in, deepening the kiss. 

When they part, Zara’s hand still on Claire’s chin, she breaks the silence again. “Just so you know, I’m not having sex with you in here.” 

“Can’t a girl just make out with her boss in a glorified hamster ball?” Zara scoffs. 

Claire’s laugh reverberates off of the plastic walls and Zara kisses her again, both of their smiles still firmly in place. 

\------------------------------- 

Claire can see her phone light up from where it’s tucked under the table. She glances around the room before sliding her finger across the screen to open the message. 

_“What are you wearing?”_

She rolls her eyes before typing out a reply. 

_“You picked out this dress. And watched me leave for this meeting twenty minutes ago.”_

_“Oh, did I ever.”_

Claire fights a smile and pretends to jot down a note. 

_“Don’t you have work to be doing?”_

_“My job is to assist you, and you’re currently not here to assist. So, no.”_

Claire asks a couple of filler questions of the executive currently rambling. Once she’s sure he’s on a spiel, and that the rest of the room’s attention is on it, she turns back to her phone. 

_“What are you wearing?”_

_“Why, Ms. Dearing, you watched me watch you leave for this meeting twenty minutes ago.”_

She hesitates, her thumbs floating over the keys she wants to press while she considers what she’s doing. She swallows roughly and crosses her legs. 

_“I meant, what are you wearing underneath that.”_

The picture comes much quicker than she expects. In it, Zara is sitting in Claire’s desk chair like she belongs there. Her pencil skirt is pushed up over her hips, and her blouse is completely unbuttoned, hanging loosely off of pale shoulders to reveal everything underneath it. A part of Claire has to keep from gasping in front of the entire board when she opens it, while the other part prays that there aren’t any cameras in her office. 

For all of her workaholic tendencies, Claire doesn’t think she’s ever paid less attention in a meeting. She also doubts she’s ever moved so quickly to leave the boardroom once the meeting comes to a close. 

\------------------------------- 

At the mid-point of her third year of working at Jurassic World, Zara is offered a promotion. She turns it down immediately. 

It’s in a department she doesn’t give a damn about, it would involve work she has no interest in doing, and there aren’t many growth prospects beyond it. In short, there are several perfectly good reasons why she turns it down beyond the fact that she would prefer to spend her time in a shared office with the woman she’s been falling over herself for since the very first day. 

Claire doesn’t see it that way. 

“I can’t be the reason you stall your career.” 

“You really think that’s all this is about? You?” Zara’s tone is somewhere between hurt and disbelief. 

Meanwhile Claire is bordering on exasperated. “You are far too smart to be my assistant forever, Zara.” 

“I know I am,” Zara straightens her shoulders, facing the Senior Assets Manager head-on. “But that doesn’t mean I should jump at the first opportunity elsewhere.” 

Claire’s expression doesn’t waver from firm and disapproving. 

“Are you sure? You seem to have no problem doing just that when it comes to your relationships.” Claire goes for broke. If she has to be tactless to get her assistant to see what the right option here is, so be it. 

Or at least that’s her thought process, until Zara takes a step back and she immediately regrets it. 

“Oh, fuck you, Claire.” 

\------------------------------- 

The apologies come later, fervered and tearful, and Zara accepts on one condition: “Don’t you _ever_ trivialize what’s between us like that again.” 

She doesn’t. 

\------------------------------- 

Although Claire would never admit it, especially not after the promotion incident, there’s a possessive element to their working relationship. Being Claire’s assistant is the only way, at least on paper, that Zara can belong to her. Claire knows it’s controlling, and not to mention inappropriate, but that doesn’t stop the surge in her chest whenever she refers to Zara as “my assistant”; or, better yet, the girl in question introduces herself as “Claire Dearing’s assistant”. 

Much like every other feeling she’s had towards Zara, Claire’s attempts to keep things under wraps falls apart when she realizes that there’s no hiding anything from the other girl. 

It happens when Zara is in the middle of straddling her, her hands pressing against the headboard behind them as she pushes her own thigh in between Claire’s, with Claire arching to return the favour. 

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly when she gasps out a stuttered _yours_. It’s meant to come out teasing, or demanding, or some combination of the two. Instead, it sounds raw and desperate, and it pushes Claire over the edge. 

Zara falls right with her. 

(They both know it’s a lie, Claire’s ring isn’t the one on Zara’s finger, but that doesn’t stop them from pretending in the moments where it feels like it could be true). 

\------------------------------- 

Claire didn’t realize that this island full of prehistoric creatures became _home_ to her until she returned from a weekend conference away, stepping off the ferry to Zara standing there with a latte and a sign, and feeling so complete she thought she might burst. 

“Claire,” Zara greets her with a soft, relieved smile, handing over the drink and reaching out for Claire’s suitcase. “How was the conference?” 

“It was fine,” Claire waves her hand dismissively, taking another step towards Zara, hovering as close to her as she can get without there being contact. “I missed you.” 

Zara blinks, surprise colouring her features at Claire’s bluntness. “I missed you, too.” 

They stand together on the pier. A humid breeze ruffles Zara’s hair, and in the distance there’s a low groan from a group of dinosaurs. It feels so familiar, so much like the thing Claire has been waiting for, that she has to take a moment to swallow a sudden lump in her throat before she speaks again. 

“Take me home, Zara.” 

“I’ve been waiting all weekend to hear you say that.” 

\------------------------------- 

**YEAR FOUR**

If Claire ever said she wasn’t surprised by the positive influence their evolving personal relationship has had on their professional one, she’d be lying. In theory, the girl who always expects the worst would throw her full weight behind the idea that their partnership would be negatively impacted. But in practice, the added connection and the lack of painful tension makes things run much smoother. Zara was already an incredible assistant, but knowing Claire completely gives her an extra edge that wasn’t there before, an edge they didn’t even realize was missing. 

“You and your assistant are a really great team,” another member of Senior Assets comments one day after a meeting, the third meeting in a row where Zara had Claire’s materials already lined up and waiting in the boardroom for her, along with her usual latte. 

“She makes it easy,” Claire shrugs off the compliment, hiding a smile behind her mug. It’s from the gift shop, featuring the same Apatosaurus design that was on Zara’s shirt the first night they kissed. Zara handed it over one morning with a knowing half-smile during the first month after they started this, and Claire has used it every day since. 

But, as usual, Claire only focuses on what she knows: numbers and results. Zara, on the other hand, can recognize the social aspect of things. Although their business partnership may be strengthened by their relationship, their social standing in the park takes a hit. She’s heard whispers around the office about how close they are, they’re trapped on an island with these people, after all; whispers that started even before they were _more_ , even before they began arriving to the office together in the morning more days than not. 

Some of them say she’s fucking her way to the top, disregarding the fact that she’s turned down promotions to stay by Claire’s side. Others joke about her being the person to thaw the ice queen, ignoring Zara’s own prickly personality. For the most part, however, it’s off-hand comments: warnings to new staff about always knocking before entering their office, and mentions of where they were seen together after-hours, or who was in whose apartment building, with eyebrows raised. 

On one occasion, Claire wears Zara’s blouse, and the gossip flies into a tailspin. 

(Zara goes into a tailspin, too, pinning Claire against the window behind her desk, their office door locked behind them – “You look _so good_ in that”). 

In an effort to salvage their reputations, Zara tries to wear her ring around the office more, something she typically avoids to keep from seeing the look that crosses Claire’s face whenever she does. She realizes too late that this only does more harm than good; now Claire isn’t just an executive sleeping with her assistant, but a homewrecker, too. 

Zara spends months protecting Claire from the speculation, but she can’t always keep up with the woman who insists on walking quick and confident into every room she enters, and one morning, Claire strides into the control room just in time to overhear a comment that less-than-eloquently combines both the ice queen and homewrecker insults. 

Claire steels her reserves, opting to _ignore_ rather than _deny, deny, deny_. After all, as she explains later, it’s not like it isn’t true. 

For once in her life, Zara doesn’t have a quick comeback. 

\------------------------------- 

There are mornings where Zara finds herself waking up with a start, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest. 

When this happens, she wishes that the calming drone of dinosaurs outside of her window were enough to lull her back to sleep. She wishes that rolling over and pressing herself closer to the redhead sleeping next to her – telling herself in the process that tomorrow will be different, that tomorrow will be the day she finally gathers up her courage and breaks things off with the boy waiting for her back home – wasn’t her preferred method of clearing her airway and getting back to sleep, but it becomes a habit anyway. 

\------------------------------- 

They’re in the middle of Claire’s bed; the sheets are still made up, but the throw pillows are covering the floor along with their clothes. Claire has her legs locked around Zara’s waist, her hands pressing in between her shoulder blades in an attempt to hold Zara as tightly to her chest as possible. 

It comes out in a desperate gasp – “I need you so much closer” – and it dawns on Zara that Claire isn’t just talking about the physical. 

She presses herself down further, her mouth parting at the feeling of slick skin. It’s at this point that she finally drags a hand roughly down Claire’s hip, sliding it in between her thighs. 

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to get any closer.” 

Claire squeezes her eyes shut at both the feeling and the reminder, nails digging into pale shoulders and hips jutting upwards. 

It’s the closest she’ll get to asking Zara to leave him. 

\------------------------------- 

“He shows up out of nowhere for an impromptu private meeting with you and then gets back in his fucking helicopter?” Zara bursts back into the office as soon as Mr. Masrani is out of the building. “What was that about?” 

Claire doesn’t think she’s regained the ability to move from the spot she’s currently rooted in, somewhere between her desk and the door, let alone explain what just happened. 

“Claire?” Zara stops in front of her stunned boss, wrapping her hand around Claire’s wrist, her thumb moving in a repetitive figure-eight around the soft underside. 

“He wanted to –” Claire takes a deep breath and finally looks at her assistant. “I’m the new Operations Manager. I’m still Senior Assets, but now they’re adding Operations to the mix.” 

The worry on Zara’s face turns into relief, and then pride, as she pulls Claire into a hug, pressing her face into her hair. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Claire leans back just enough that there’s room to breathe, her arms looping around Zara’s shoulders and her hands loosely tangling in dark curls. 

“I know I’ve earned this,” Claire starts, as Zara rolls her eyes in fond exasperation. “But I also know that I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” 

“Leave it to you to only get sappy when work is involved,” Zara teases. 

“I’m serious, Zara. This – our partnership, us – ” Claire hesitates for a split second, breaking eye contact before continuing. “It means more to me than you’ll ever know.” 

They stand in silence for a beat, wrapped around each other. Zara’s expression shifts into something more solemn. 

She slips her hands under Claire’s blouse, one rubbing light circles across her lower back while the other squeezes her hip. She wants to be as close as she can possibly get for this. 

“Claire,” Zara breathes in. She gathers her courage and waits until Claire’s eyes are on her. “I love you.” 

She breathes out. Claire freezes in her arms. 

“Zara, you’re –” 

“I know.” 

Claire is thankful for the interruption, for once, as the realization hits her that she isn’t even sure which reason to use to explain why they can’t. Zara is what? Engaged? Her assistant? Not hers to want, let alone have in all the ways she has, this moment included? 

(She figures the best option is probably “all of the above”). 

“I don’t care,” Zara answers bluntly, her voice cracking. “I’m so in love with you, I can’t even be bothered to care about any of that.” 

Claire feels a surge of frustration. 

She wants it to stop. The tears, the barriers, the secrets. All of it. She hates that there is absolutely nothing she can do to get what she wants, a feeling she doesn’t think she will ever get used to. She hates that she has to settle for pieces of Zara instead of all of her. She hates that all of her problems stem from the fact that there’s a man in England who she’s never even seen, and a line in the employee handbook about relationships with subordinates. She hates that even if, by some miracle, they overcame the obstacles in front of them, she doesn’t feel like she truly even deserves Zara in any capacity beyond this. 

In this moment, Claire has never wanted more to ask Zara to call off the engagement, and her fingers itch to grab her phone and demand that the handbook be revised. 

Instead, she presses a hard kiss to her assistant’s mouth. 

“I love you, too.” 

\------------------------------- 

Before her first official meeting as Operations Manager, Claire paces the office and tries her hand at breathing exercises in an attempt to calm down. 

She stops suddenly in front of Zara’s desk, where the other girl has been silently observing her meltdown. 

“I can’t do this. They shouldn’t have given me this promotion.” 

Zara looks at her with eyebrows raised. 

“Claire, come on. You know you can handle this,” Zara crosses her legs and doesn’t move from her spot. “Now, you’re going to be late if you don’t head down to the boardroom.” 

“Zara –” Claire tries to interject with a repeat of all the reasons why she can’t do this. 

“Don’t forget your notebook,” Zara switches her focus to the computer screen in front of her, dismissing Claire entirely. 

\------------------------------- 

She sits at the head of the table, organizes her pens in a line, and opens her notebook. 

People are still filtering into the boardroom when she spots a note in Zara’s distinct, loopy cursive scrawled in the margin of her talking points. 

_“Good luck, even though you don’t need it. You’re nothing short of extraordinary.”_

The rest of the meeting feels like a breeze from there on out. 

(When she gets back to her office, she rips the note out and tapes it to the edge of her monitor to act as a reminder for the next time she feels like she’s spinning out). 

\------------------------------- 

Zara is away for the first time in three years. Zara is _home_ for the first time since they started this, and Claire can’t sleep. 

She gives up on trying to get comfortable, rolling flat onto her back. She watches the fan above her spin in circles until she loses the remaining shred of self-control she was clinging to, leaning across the bed for her phone. 

She selects the contact that’s always in the top spot of her messages and listens to the ring until she’s sure there won’t be an answer. Of course, that’s when the other line picks up. 

“Claire? Are you alright?” Zara sounds exactly the same as she does every morning, talking to Claire as they get ready in her suite’s bathroom, both half-dressed and half-awake. Claire feels the knot in her chest loosen. 

“I’m okay, I just couldn’t sleep,” Claire rolls over to face the side of the bed that Zara would normally be on. “Sorry I woke you.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I have to get up in two hours anyway. Alec’s family has activities planned for every day of my trip and they’re apparently very early risers.” 

“And here I thought you’d learned to like itineraries,” Claire teases. 

“I only like _your_ itineraries,” Zara is quick with a response, and Claire can hear the smile in her voice. 

What she can also hear is the whisper-level tone that she hasn’t risen above the entire conversation. And what she can picture, as a result, is Zara standing half-dressed in the bathroom connected to the bedroom she shares with Alec, trying to keep her voice down because he’s asleep and can’t wake up to the sound of Zara flirting with her boss at five a.m. 

A jealous streak shoots through Claire even though she knows it isn’t fair to anybody involved in this. She tries to keep from being selfish, but she’s always worn her heart on her sleeve when it comes to Zara. “It doesn’t feel the same without you here.” 

Zara reads between the lines and responds without hesitation. “I miss you, too.” 

They settle into an easy silence, and Claire squeezes her eyes shut and tries to focus on the sound of Zara breathing. 

“Claire,” she says suddenly, sounding serious. “I need you to know that I haven’t – we haven’t done anything since I’ve been here.” 

“It’s none of my business. He’s your fiancé.” 

“I know. But I don’t want him to be,” Zara is almost always painfully blunt, but from an ocean away, she’s reaching new levels of honesty. “I just – I can’t – I don’t know how to get out of this. I’m completely fucking trapped. Every morning, I wake up and tell myself that I’m just going to end things with him, but then I can never gather up the courage to pull the trigger. At one point, he was my best friend. He loves me. He thinks we’re getting married. I just can’t take that away from him yet.” 

Claire realizes she’s been holding her breath throughout Zara’s entire spiel. She draws air in sharply, forcing her lungs to work before she can speak. “You’ll get there eventually. I hope.” 

She’s trying her best to reassure Zara without her own motivations getting in the way, but she can practically feel herself choking on the words, _pick me, pick me, pick me._

“I wish I’d done it three years ago,” Zara swallows roughly. “Claire, we could be so much more than this.” 

“I know.” It’s the best she can offer. She’s fully aware that Zara isn’t looking for Claire to tell her what to do; she just needs to vent about the mess they’re in with the only other person involved. 

In moments like this, Claire swears she can feel the weight of what they’re doing about to crush them both, and she’s struck with the realization that they’re both cowards. Zara is too afraid of hurting somebody she cares about to end things with Alec, and Claire is too worried about appearances to ask Zara to leave him. They’re stuck in this eternal limbo, and it’s all their own fault. 

“You should go to sleep,” Zara switches the topic suddenly, clearly done talking about the elephant in the room. “I’m going to make an early breakfast. Do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?” Zara’s voice is louder now, and Claire can picture her standing in the kitchen, wearing her favourite soft gray sweater and leggings. 

Claire hesitates for a moment, briefly considering ignoring Zara’s change of topic to deal with the issue head-on. 

Instead, she sinks back into the pillows, accepting her fate as she sighs into the receiver. “Yes.” 

On the other end of the line, Zara smiles at the soft, sleepy tone Claire’s voice has taken on. She wraps an arm around herself, pressing the phone tightly to her ear. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, waiting for Claire to get comfortable while she keeps her other ear out for movement in the bedroom she just left. 

“Claire?” Zara breaks the silence with a murmur. “I’ll be home before you know it.” 

\------------------------------- 

“You know, Claire, maybe if you spent less time with your assistant and more time outside of the office, you would stand a fighting chance to find someone and settle down,” Karen’s voice comes through the speaker, tinny and annoying. 

“Somehow I doubt that,” Claire manages through clenched teeth, ending the call before her sister can respond. 

\------------------------------- 

“Zara, a pleasure, as always,” Simon Masrani greets Zara as he steps into the office. Claire follows a moment later, giving Zara a small smile from behind his back. 

Zara looks up from her monitor, plastering on an expression that she’s positive she picked up from watching Claire’s interactions with their boss. “Mr. Masrani, welcome back.” 

“Claire mentioned you were printing off her most recent report?” 

She knows Claire conveniently left out the part where Zara was frantically doing last minute edits to said report while she occupied Mr. Masrani with a quick office tour. 

“Just finished,” Zara stands, hand extending with a freshly-stapled document in it. 

Mr. Masrani takes the report, but not without also taking note of the ring on Zara’s left hand. It’s the first time she’s worn it in weeks, having slid it on for a FaceTime call with Alec that morning, and the weight of it feels unfamiliar. 

“Congratulations,” he says, pointing at the diamond that Claire willfully ignores whenever it makes an appearance. “I don't remember seeing that the last time I was on the island, how long have you been engaged?” 

Claire is frozen in place, the only sign of movement being her forced smile and clenched hands. 

“Oh, right,” Zara fumbles for a response that doesn’t show how little she cares about this particular topic. “About two – uh, three years now.” 

“Not in any rush?” Mr. Masrani continues his questioning as his eyes skim Claire’s report. 

“Not in the slightest.” 

\------------------------------- 

**YEAR FIVE**

“Zara, remember, my nephews are getting off the ferry at nine,” Claire steps into her suite’s bathroom, raising her voice to be heard over the running shower. 

“I’m well aware,” Zara tosses back. 

Claire turns to leave, her hand on the doorknob, when the curtain slides open. 

“You know, favours for my hardworking boss aside,” Zara stands with her hand on her hip as if she’s in front of Claire’s desk fully clothed and not dripping wet in her shower. “My distaste for children is so strong, I feel like I really deserve some sort of additional compensation here.” 

Claire quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

Zara drops the concerned assistant facade and smirks. “Come here.” 

“If you think I’m getting in the shower when I’m fully dressed and this steam is already a threat to my hair, you have officially lost it, Zara.” 

At Zara’s exaggerated eye roll and sigh, Claire crosses the room. Pressing her hands to Zara’s stomach to keep her from moving any closer, she leans forward and presses her lips to Zara’s, her tongue sliding past the water droplets collecting on her bottom lip. One of Zara’s hands grasps at the wet tile while the other grips the shower curtain, needing to occupy them so she doesn’t grab onto Claire’s carefully tucked blouse and skirt combination. 

Pulling away with a soft gasp, Claire tries to hang onto her upper hand. “That should tide you over until later. Something to keep in mind when the boys are driving you up the wall.” 

Zara groans, leaning against the wall of the shower that Claire had her pressed into at this time yesterday. “You’re killing me, Claire.” 

Claire laughs, open and warm, turning around to grin back at her. 

She hesitates once she reaches the doorway, pausing to share a glance as they both silently acknowledge just how off it feels that they aren’t starting their day by the window in their office, syncing their itineraries. The routine is something they’ve come to rely heavily on over the past five years together. 

“You’re running late,” Zara waves her off. “I’ll see you at the Innovation Center.” 

\------------------------------- 

The park is falling apart and Claire can’t get a hold of Zara or the boys. 

“Owen, please, I need you to help me find them.” Claire knows she sounds panicked, and desperate, and everything else she doesn’t want anyone – especially Owen Grady – witnessing. But it’s Zara, and it’s the boys. Her career as she knows it is over, but she can’t lose them, too. 

For all of his flaws, Claire knows that Owen is a good man. 

He looks at her watery eyes and the indentations her tight grip is leaving on his arm, before nodding. “Let’s go.” 

\------------------------------- 

Her last contact with Zara is a short phone call in the midst of the chaos. She can barely hear her on the other end, her accent intermingled with the shouts of the people surrounding her. 

“Claire, we spotted the boys on surveillance. They’re approaching the west gate, I’m headed there now.” 

“Stay right there,” Claire breathes down the line, relief clear in her voice. “I’m on my way.” 

She ends the call and climbs onto the back of the waiting ATV with Owen. There isn’t any time for reassurances or promises. 

\------------------------------- 

They find the boys looking scared and shell-shocked in the middle of Main Street. 

“Oh, thank god,” Claire struggles to wrap her arms around both of them at the same time. “You’re okay. You’re both okay.” 

She’s in the process of running her hand through Gray’s blonde curls when she stiffens suddenly, realizing that Zara should be pulling her into her arms right about now, but Claire doesn’t see dark hair and green eyes anywhere in the chaos around them. 

“Where’s Zara?” 

Her question is met with silence and Claire feels her heart lurch in her chest. 

“My assistant,” she explains further, her voice turning shrill and frantic. “She was on her way to find you when she called me, where did she go?” 

Gray opens and closes his mouth, no words coming out. Zach glances at his aunt nervously. 

“Did she go to the office to look for me? My apartment?” 

“Aunt Claire,” Zach starts, holding his hands out in a calming gesture. In this moment, he suddenly looks so much older. “The dinosaurs – the flying ones – grabbed her.” 

Claire doesn’t realize she’s on the ground until glass and gravel are already digging into the backs of her thighs. 

At this, Gray starts rambling, the shock of the situation finally sinking in. “It was right before you got here. It happened so fast. She was right _there_.” 

“What?” Claire’s mouth suddenly feels numb. Her ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton. This can’t be real. “Where did –” 

Gray cuts her off, delivering the final blow. “They dropped her in the Mosasaurus tank.” 

Owen sees the look on her face and pulls Claire up into a standing position, shielding the boys as best as he can as she staggers to the bushes to vomit. 

When she gets back up, she barely has a moment to catch her breath before Owen has both hands on her shoulders, desperately trying to catch her eye. The boys are standing, scared and concerned, next to him. 

“We need to go.” 

Claire breathes in and out, her eyes flicking between Owen, the boys, and the Mosasaurus exhibit in the distance. She makes a decision. 

“No,” Claire pulls her shoulders back and raises her chin. In the back of her mind, she thinks she’s finally lost it. Based on the look crossing Owen’s face, he’s thinking the same thing. “I’m going to go get her.” 

“Claire,” the sympathy in Owen’s voice is bordering on patronizing. 

“No, Owen. I did this,” Claire gestures to the mess surrounding them. “I did this to _her_.” 

Her voice cracks and she draws in a shaky, unstable breath. 

“Whether it’s Zara, or a body, or fucking _pieces_ of her, I’m bringing her back.” 

Owen doesn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes scanning over her features. She realizes suddenly that she’s crying, her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

He sighs, finally letting go of her shoulders and raising his arms in a hands-off gesture. “I’ll get the kids somewhere safe.” 

Claire nods, squeezing the boys’ shoulders as she passes, sprinting in the direction of the exhibit. 

\------------------------------- 

The tank itself is huge. Claire’s memories of it during its opening event – the last time she was anywhere near it – don’t paint an accurate picture of the sheer size of it. But it’s without hesitation that she kicks off her heels and pulls herself up the ladder, plunging over the side. 

As the cold water envelops her, her breathing turns into panicked gulps, and she scans the tank for any sign of Zara. 

Several feet ahead of her, a purple blazer haloed by dark hair sticks out like a sore thumb. 

She swims as quickly as she can, pushing herself to keep going when she swallows a mouthful of the water, choking and sputtering as she kicks her way through the tank. 

Wherever the Mosasaurus is, it doesn’t rip Claire away from Zara once she reaches her. 

Wrapping her arms around the broken body in front of her in a bridal-style hold, Claire kicks back in the direction of the ladder, dark crimson trailing behind them. She carries Zara carefully back over the ledge and down what feels like an increased number of ladder rungs, whispering any reassuring phrase that comes to mind – _it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’m so sorry._

Once she can finally set Zara down onto dry ground, Claire begins checking for a heartbeat, her hand frantically slipping over the pulse point on her neck. 

There’s nothing there. Claire feels her chest crack open. 

She breathes in, her eyes tracing over Zara’s face, over her ripped clothing and open wounds. She breathes out, sliding a leg over Zara’s waist and placing her hands on her chest, pressing down in a frenetic mimic of what she was taught in a college first-aid course. 

Despite all of the earlier chaos, the park is in near silence by this point. The only sound in the surrounding area being Claire’s desperate gasps, staccatoed by her pleas for her assistant to just _please wake up, please don’t leave me, please please please._

She feels ribs crack under her hands and tries to compartmentalize it. 

Claire is in the process of breathing her own air into Zara’s lungs when she hears footsteps. 

Owen approaches her slowly, like she’s an easily spooked animal and not someone in the middle of trying to revive their dead lover. 

“How long has she been like this?” 

She doesn’t answer. 

“Claire, if she was underwater for too long –” 

“I fucking know,” Claire snaps in between compressions. “But I’m not going to just leave her here. I’m not going anywhere without at least trying to save her. I _can’t_.” 

Her voice gets caught in her throat and she focuses on the remaining hint of pink in Zara’s cheeks to keep moving. 

“Okay,” Owen crouches down next to Zara (she refuses to admit that, at this point, it’s Zara’s body). “I can take over if you need me to.” 

Claire can only manage a nod in thanks. She knows if she tried to say anything now, it would just come out in a sob. Zara deserves her full attention, and that’s something she can’t give if she falls apart. 

She’s close to taking him up on his offer when the girl underneath her hands coughs up a mouthful of water and blood. 

“Zara?” Claire brings her shaking hands up to wipe away the watery, crimson mixture running down a pale chin. “Can you hear me?” 

Zara coughs again, her whole frame shaking. Claire realizes suddenly that tears are leaking out from underneath clenched eyelids. 

“Claire, it _hurts_.” 

“I know it does, I know. But you need to hang on, okay? Please just hang on a little bit longer.” 

Claire presses a kiss to a wet cheek before she stands on shaky legs, letting Owen step in to pick up the broken girl on the ground. The sound Zara makes when he lifts her up has Claire clenching her hands together to keep from covering her ears. 

When Owen signals that they’re ready to go, Claire wraps her hand around Zara’s, the hand not tucked under her head against Owen’s chest, intertwining their fingers as she leads the way towards the makeshift triage centre. 

\------------------------------- 

With Zara alive and safe, however tentatively, Claire saves the day wearing heels and holding a flare. 

\------------------------------- 

“Claire Dearing. I’m here for Zara Young, I’m her –” 

“Emergency contact,” the woman at the front desk reads off the screen in front of her, raising her voice to be heard over the sounds of an overcrowded waiting room. 

Claire freezes. She was expecting resistance on all fronts, sure she was going to be denied entry either because she has no official relationship with Zara, or because the blame is on her for every mark covering her assistant’s body. 

“She’s just down that hall,” the receptionist waves her hand distractedly in the direction of the hallway. “Last room on the right.” 

“Thank you,” Claire scrambles to act the part offered, not realizing that she doesn’t need to act at all – the part has been hers for the past five years. 

\------------------------------- 

Claire can count on one hand the number of times Zara has woken up in the past week. Once, when Claire first arrived at the hospital, she woke up to squeeze her hand before drifting back to sleep. Another time, she woke up screaming and trying to rip out what looks like an endless number of tubes and wires connecting her body to machines around the room. That time, Claire had to press herself as close to the other girl as she could given the barriers, and plead with her to calm down, that it was okay, that she was safe. Claire tries not to think about this one too much – about the fear on Zara’s face, about the helplessness that curled up in her chest. 

In this moment, she’s still unconscious after surgery, and won’t be awake for a few hours yet. Claire sits close, her knees pressing into the edge of the mattress and her hand tangled with Zara’s, ready for when she does come to. 

She hears footsteps in the doorway but doesn’t look up from the patterns her thumb is tracing on the back of Zara’s hand. 

Her sister has been stopping by frequently to check on her, fussing over the dark circles under her eyes and her despondency towards anybody who isn’t a part of Zara’s medical team. Karen, Scott, and the boys have been staying at a hotel nearby until they can leave; it turns out that getting a flight out of Costa Rica in an emergency situation isn’t as easy as getting one there. 

Apart from driving her to the hospital, Owen has also been by. Unlike Karen, he doesn’t hover or nag. He doesn’t even really say much aside from updates on what is going on in the world outside of the hospital’s walls. He settles for squeezing her shoulder every time he enters the room and every time he leaves. Claire may have had a strong distaste for the man throughout their time working at the park, but they survived a traumatic event together, and he helped save Zara’s life. She finds his presence comforting now, rather than annoying. 

A third visitor is Lowery Cruthers. Another person Claire patronized during her time at Jurassic World who doesn’t seem to hold any grudges, he stops by with flowers, placing them gently on Zara’s bedside table. They’re the only ones she’s received. 

Claire found out during Owen’s first visit that it was Lowery who radioed Owen to the Mosasaurus tank, who saw her desperate attempts at CPR through the security cameras and called the first person he could think of to help. 

(Claire is starting she realize she’s indebted to more people than she thought for Zara’s survival). 

He doesn’t look surprised by Claire’s presence, nor by how close she is to Zara. 

Instead, he offers a tentative smile, “I didn’t want to head out without checking in. My number is on the card,” he gestures to the flowers. “When you guys are out of here and back to the States, or England, get in touch.” 

Claire finds herself giving him a small smile in return. “Thank you. For everything.” 

He bobs his head, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck awkwardly. “Good luck, Claire.” 

The “with Zara, with the oncoming legal shit-storm, with the post-traumatic stress” goes left unsaid. 

Where the footsteps didn’t catch her attention, the clearing of a throat in the entrance does. 

“Can I help you?” She holds onto at least some of her assertive qualities as she stares down the man in front of her. 

“I’m Alec.” 

He doesn’t need to introduce himself further. Claire is perfectly aware of who he is, and they both know it. The shock on her face is about as well concealed as the dark circles under her eyes. 

She lets go of Zara’s hand but doesn’t move away from the bed. 

“Alec,” she sounds like she’s testing out his name. She realizes suddenly that this is the first time she’s ever actually said it, after being perfectly content spending the past five years pretending that he didn’t exist. “I was wondering if you'd come.” 

Claire knows immediately that this was the wrong thing to say, but she doesn't back down.

“If you had checked Zara’s phone, you would know that I’ve been trying to reach her for days,” he answers sharply, pausing for a beat. “But I guess your relationship doesn’t extend quite that far.” 

He’s closer now, standing on the opposite side of Zara’s bed, the girl in question in between them. It’s fitting. 

Claire flinches imperceptibly before bristling. “I guess I must have forgotten to grab her phone when I saved her life.” 

“Don’t you mean when you tried to fix the mess you made?” Alec retorts, gesturing towards bed. 

She keeps her features neutral, biting the inside of her cheek so hard that she tastes copper. 

“You know, I had to fight to even get past the front desk,” Alec laughs, but it’s humourless. “It turns out that it’s pretty hard for a hospital to believe that somebody’s fiancé isn’t their emergency contact.” 

Alec stays standing and Claire feels dwarfed. If she had the energy, she would face him head-on. 

“They thought I was somebody coming after you, a disgruntled employee or guest,” he continues. “I guess they weren’t too far off.” 

She clenches her jaw and squares her shoulders. “Get on with it, then.” 

“I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen,” he starts, anger simmering ever-so-slightly under the surface. “You owe me that much, at least.” 

Claire swallows down a retort and squeezes her hands together out of view. 

“I knew about you from the start. At first, I told myself it was just a passing fancy. A power crush. You should have heard the way Zara talked about you when she’d call. If I knew any better, I would have thought you built the bloody park with your bare hands. But over that first year away, it morphed into talking about the things you did together, into her skipping the _fucking_ holidays to spend them with you so you wouldn’t be alone, and it was so clear to me that this was turning into some sort of emotional affair.” 

He pauses, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. Claire stays silent. 

“But I knew she hadn’t realized it yet, at least not fully, so I proposed before she could. All the good that did, in the end.” 

Claire tenses, the weight of her actions hitting her suddenly and all at once. 

“I don’t know when you started sleeping together, and I don’t care,” Alec explains, meeting Claire’s gaze. “I’m not here to find out the details. I’m here to make sure she’s okay, and to make sure you know that I’m not some fool who didn’t realize what was going on for five years. I’m _not_. I’m just the fool who saw it from the start, and hoped she would change her mind and pick me.” 

“But she did pick you. She said yes to _you_.” 

“And then she turned around and fucked _you_.” 

Claire flinches. Years of protecting this secret makes it being thrown in her face – and by the person who has been impacted the most by it – hurt even more. 

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she starts. “If there’s anything I’ve realized over the past week, it’s that I’ve been very naive. I told myself that as long as you didn’t know, as long as you didn’t get hurt, what I was doing wasn’t as awful as it could be. The same could be said for how I chose to run a park full of dinosaurs, and look how that turned out.” 

Over the past five years, the guilt has never quite left her. She mastered the ability of shoving it to the back of her mind whenever it was particularly present, lying to herself about the gravity of her actions, but it never stopped simmering in the background. Claire apologizes because the guilt exists, because she is genuinely sorry that she not only did this to another person, but carried on with it for half a decade, not because she wants his forgiveness. 

Alec nods sharply, but doesn’t acknowledge her apology otherwise. 

He clears his throat and moves onto the next topic instead. 

“Is she going to be alright?” 

Claire’s eyes flick back over to Zara, still sleeping soundly, one hand outstretched towards her. 

“Yes. She just had a surgery to patch up the last of the major issues. Once she wakes up, she can start healing,” Claire gives the shortened version of what the medical team spent the past few days repeatedly going over with her. “With time, she should make a full recovery.” 

Alec breathes out a sigh of relief. The anger and fear that shrouded his presence when he first walked into the room have gone away, making him look so much smaller, and so very tired. 

He pauses in his spot next to the bed, looking at Zara like he’s committing her to memory, before he steps away. It’s at this point that Claire finally stands, but Alec cuts off anything she might say. 

“Like I said, I only came here for two reasons,” he explains, already heading through the doorway. “And now I need to move on with my life.” 

\------------------------------- 

Claire wakes up from her place half-slumped over Zara’s bed to green eyes looking down at her, the familiar weight of Zara’s hand curled loosely in her hair. 

“Zara?” 

“Hi, darling,” Zara greets in low, raspy tones, the tube in her throat muffling most of her words. “Took you long enough.” 

Claire laughs, loud and relieved, tears springing to her eyes. 

\------------------------------- 

**A (BRIEF) EPILOGUE**

It takes blood, sweat, tears, and therapy, but they eventually manage to heal. They persevere, and with time, they get to come out on the other side of things a little less whole than they were before, but alive and _together_ , in every sense of the word. 

Somewhere along the way, Claire slowly lets herself settle into the idea that she has Zara in all the ways that she finally feels worthy of. 

She’s done things she will never be able to forgive herself for. When she plays out the past five years in her mind, there are a thousand things she would do differently if given the chance. But what she has with Zara? Regardless of how they got here, reaching this outcome is the one thing she knows she did right. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're on twitter, I happen to be on there too: @anniebrackettt (that's an extra t!)
> 
> And, as always, tumblr: anniebrackett


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